Not the Cuddly Sort
by Nenalata
Summary: The proud Amell-Hawke line ends here, all because she wanted to impress a stupid boy with her dress. A glimpse into the beginnings of Fenris and F!Hawke's rekindled romance in Act III. Rated T for Teen: Violence and Suggestive Themes.


Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to walk through Hightown at night in her best clothes, no armor, Sage Hawke realized belatedly as the Crimson Weavers leapt upon her. Fortunately, she hadn't been quite so stupid as to leave her daggers behind, but the aforementioned lack of armor meant running away first seemed to be in her best interest. Dodging what might have been a painful swipe to her stomach, Sage darted past the Chantry and bounded up the stairs to Hightown Estates. The Crimson Weavers laughed at her poor choice—that way was a dead end, when she easily could have escaped to Lowtown—and followed, their footsteps and raucous cheers loud in the still night air.

Contrary to the thugs' belief, Sage was not entirely stupid. Arriving at a decrepit mansion, she pressed down on the handle of the door and pushed forward to her haven. Instead, she met resistance as the gang approached and formed a circle around her. Locked. Sage swore audibly, much to the Weavers' delight. Maybe she was entirely stupid; sensible people would indeed keep their doors locked at night.

She drew her daggers and faced her enemies, setting her jaw. She was fairly confident she could take them all out, though they probably wouldn't let her escape unscathed. Shame, too—this was one of her best dresses. Bad choices all around.

The thugs laughed at her battle stance, which probably looked ridiculous from where they were standing. Slender woman in a glitzy frock glaring at them with tiny pointy sticks in her hands? Surely she didn't think she stood a chance, did they?

"Sweetheart," one particularly ugly gang member asked her, curling her lip in a grotesque sneer, "you know this ain't like the stories, eh? We're not gonna letcha pick us off one by one," and with that, the entire band was upon the last surviving member of the Hawke family.

_This is how it ends_, Sage thought grimly as she threw herself into battle. _The proud Amell-Hawke line ends here, all because I wanted to impress a stupid boy with my dress._ The ugly band member, now lying in a pool of her own blood on the Hightown tiles, certainly had a point: some dim part of Sage's mind had kind of expected a Varric Tethras-esque outcome, in which the Crimson Weavers were so stupid that they attacked one at a time, allowing her to manage their numbers easily. Well, this certainly wasn't a storybook picture, she was aware of that, especially since one (now dead) Crimson Weaver had managed to slice the fatty part of her shoulder and another (now clutching the gaping wound in his gut) had clipped her forearm. Wielding her daggers was becoming somewhat of a strain, and while Sage had accepted her demise, the pain certainly wasn't going to keep her from going out with a bang.

A masculine roar boomed through the air, nearly shattering her eardrums. The shock was quickly overcome by sweet, sweet relief; she knew that battle cry. A wave of Crimson Weavers around her suddenly were sent flying backwards by a spinning greatsword, the crunch of bone hitting pavement the only sound for a moment. To their credit, the thugs recovered quickly, shouting battle cries of their own as they directed their attention on the more immediate threat in the form of a glowing elf.

Another sweeping motion of the greatsword, another wave of thugs sent sprawling onto the stones in various stages of dying. "Get inside," Fenris barked at Sage, who stood gaping. "I'll handle this." Clearly noticing the mutinous look on her face, he vented his own frustration by punching through the chest of a sturdy-looking Weaver and crushing his heart as he repeated, "Get inside! You're wounded!"

Arguing could wait for later. Sage followed his order and ran to the now-unlocked door, slipping inside and slamming the door as loudly as her heart was beating, so it seemed. From inside the stone walls, all she could hear was Fenris occasionally roaring or the Crimson Weavers occasionally roaring back. On shaky legs she walked to the small room Fenris spent most of his time in, trying to calm her breathing as she went. The farther back into the estate she went, the quieter the battle sounds became. She rested against the wall by the fireplace as her breaths became deeper and slower, the sweat trickling into her cuts making them sting.

Before long, she heard the front door slam and heavy footfalls approach the stairs. Sage exhaled, recognizing the pattern and weight of the footsteps. She smiled weakly at Fenris and his blood-spattered armor as he entered the apartment, but unsurprisingly, Fenris only leveled a glower her way.

"Fenris," she began, and was immediately cut off.

"You went out alone in _that_?" he growled, jabbing a tattooed finger at the tattered sleeves of her dress. "What _possessed _you to wander about at midnight with only a couple of daggers to protect yourself?"

Sage pressed her lips in a straight line. "Please spare me the lecture. I know it was stupid, believe me, but you can mock me after I've tended to my wounds."

"And you didn't tend to them while you waited?"

"I was catching my breath," she snapped back, "and forgive me if I didn't wish to rifle through your belongings without rhyme or reason."

Fenris let out an irritated huff, but at least he wasn't so livid as to deny his love of privacy. "I will collect some poultices," he said through gritted teeth. "There is a pitcher of water on the table you may use to clean the wounds." He stalked over to his satchel by the bed while Sage sat and ripped off a particularly long piece of her sleeve to dip in water. With his back turned, she began unlacing her bodice and shrugged off the ruined sleeves, wincing as the fabric tugged at the broken skin. After a few sounds of rummaging and a satisfied grunt, Fenris returned with two poultices and a roll of clean linen and set them down beside her, though she noticed he had averted his eyes.

"Is there a problem?" Sage asked him snippily. There was no privacy in the camps their party made along their travels, and—might as well be blunt—he'd certainly seen her naked before, so his sudden shyness was almost insulting.

"The problem," he bit out, still not looking at her, "is that you were being foolish. I can see no reason why you would journey into the streets in the dead of night in such a ridiculous outfit. You're not a stupid woman, Hawke, so why were you being stupid tonight?"

Sage bristled at the accusation, prepared to give him a vicious tongue-lashing, but finally he looked up at her, his green eyes large and troubled as they gazed deeply into her own brown ones. "I could have lost you tonight," he said, the fear in his voice almost, but not quite, completely masking the embarrassment. "Had I not heard the fighting, I—"

Sage cut him off with a small smile. "You're not going to lose me to a couple of gangsters," she assured him.

"Hawke, you say that—"

"You're right. I was being stupid. You know why I went out like this?" She gestured to the remains of her silly dress. "I wanted to surprise you by showing up in this. I guess I managed that much, but not in the way I expected. I'm sorry for that."

The incredulity in Fenris's eyes made her stiffen, and she readied herself for another lecture, but to her surprise, he chuckled very quietly. Even more to her surprise, he took a poultice and began gently applying it to the uglier cut in her shoulder. As she grimaced in pain, he pressed his lips to the uninjured part of her shoulder.

"You're a wonder, Sage," he said against her skin, and despite the itching soreness in her arms, she felt delicious shivers run up her spine. The moment was ruined by a sudden sharp stabbing pain in the untreated cut in her other arm, and she couldn't help but gasp. A smart man, Fenris understood that she was no longer reacting to his touch and withdrew, briskly wrapping the shoulder in linen before turning his attention to her forearm.

While Anders had patched her up with magic countless times in the past, and while she had helped properly set Isabela's broken arm before a healer could tend to her, there was something unmistakably tender to Fenris's tending to her injuries. It wasn't anything specific, but it was telling that since these were not grave wounds, ones she could undoubtedly handle herself, he still chose to give her a hand.

When both cuts had been cleaned and dressed, Fenris crouched so that he was at eye level with her.

"It's quite late, and I'm sure there are more Crimson Weavers stalking the streets," he said seriously. "I think it best if you stay until morning, when it is less likely you will be mugged trying to get home."

Sage nodded, not disappointed that there would be no further flirtation for the night. It had only been that morning that they had killed Danarius, after all. "That seems like a good idea. Thank you, Fenris. For everything."

He nodded back, though suddenly he looked quite uncomfortable. "I need to clean up. You may take the bed, if you wish." He turned to go, and now Sage felt disappointment. She opened her mouth to call after him, but he had already disappeared into the hallway.

She remained where she was, listening to the sounds of water splashing against skin. When he returned, he was shirtless and his hair dripping, though his chest was covered by the bundle of sheets and pillows he carried.

"There's no need for you to sleep on the floor," Sage mustered up the courage to say. She could see him swallow nervously even from this distance. "I'm tired," she explained quickly, "and I'd feel guilty kicking you out of your bed. I don't mind if you don't."

Fenris's eyes darted everywhere but her face. "I've never," he stuttered, "never shared my—"

"It's okay," she said. "Whatever makes you most comfortable." It was true, after all. Their first night together had made him bolt out of the house. She removed the last of her dress, though there wasn't much to remove, and walked towards the unmade bed, feeling the lack of his eyes on her like a brand. She slipped under the covers and rolled on her side, facing the wall. Sage could hear him drop his bundle on the floor next to the bed, heard the creak of leather and rasp of metal as he unbuckled the rest of his leathers. When she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, she made a small noise of surprise and he froze.

"Is this all right?" he asked almost inaudibly. She made an assenting sound, and felt him cautiously slide under the sheets, right on the edge of the bed.

They lay in silence for agonizingly long moments, and Sage knew neither of them were even close to falling asleep. The distance between them felt like a gaping chasm that only a leap of faith could hope to cross.

Sage took the leap, and scooted closer to his warmth. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he felt her move. "Relax," she murmured, "I just want to cuddle."

"I'm not the…cuddly sort," he answered, voice cracking on the last syllable.

"It might make you feel more comfortable," she said. "I don't have to touch you much, if you don't want. I just want to feel you close to me. Is that okay?"

He didn't say anything, but she was fairly certain she heard him nod against his pillow. The bed was bigger than a twin but still not quite large enough to accommodate two people, and yet he seemed quite far away as she slowly wrapped an arm around his chest. She could feel his heart racing under her hand.

"It's all right," she whispered, cautiously ghosting her lips over an unmarked part of his arm. He jerked noticeably, more out of nerves than pain, and she marveled at how different he was when he was blinded by passion. Of course, they had only spent the one night together; Sage was aware it would take an extraordinary amount of patience on her part if they truly were to make this work.

She was entirely certain they could. She kept her arm where it was while his breathing and heart rate slowed, and when he no longer seemed about to have a panic attack, she moved her head to rest on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Fenris, to his credit, didn't react at first. Listening to his mostly steady breathing was soothing in of itself, and before long, the combination of slow breathing and warm cocoon of covers and body heat lulled her into half-sleep. When she felt Fenris's arm hesitantly, shakily pull itself out from under her and wrap itself around her shoulders, she was proud of her lack of reaction. Feigning sleep was clearly the way to go. When he began slowly carding his fingers through her hair, she couldn't help the pleased sound the gesture elicited from her, and he paused for a long second before continuing.

Fenris must have thought her more awake than she was, because she heard him whisper something in her ear, but sleep's hold was too heavy on her and she fell asleep in his embrace before she could discern the words.

Morning dawned sleepy and cozy, marred only by the aching stiffness in her shoulder. Fortunately, this was only the second thing Sage noticed, and the first was much more pleasant. At some point during the night, Fenris had shifted closer to her, and every time she exhaled, white strands of his hair fluttered around his face. As pleasing a discovery as this was, soon the stiffness became too uncomfortable, and she gently rubbed Fenris's forearm which was resting across her collarbones.

He jerked awake instantly, green eyes snapping open as he surveyed his surroundings with a wild expression. Once he caught sight of her, he calmed, easing back down into a reclined position with a look on his face that could only be described as sheepish. Sage smiled; sheepish was preferable to humiliated or afraid.

"Good morning," she said, her voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, and he gave the tiniest, shyest grin at her. "I admit, this is an agreeable sight to wake up to."

Sage grinned back, relieved at his attempt at nonchalance. "I feel the same, but I think it's time to get out of bed. My shoulder is bothering me."

Fenris nodded, his timid flirtatiousness fading away as they disentangled themselves. As she redressed her wounds in the washroom, Fenris, who had offered, searched through his few belongings for a shirt and trousers set that might fit her different frame. When she returned to the bedroom, he was sitting by the fireplace with a pensive look on his face, the clothes laid out on the table next to him.

He rose fluidly from his position when she came closer, and right as she was about to ask him if there was something wrong, her lips became otherwise occupied. His kisses were smooth and gentle, and she felt his thanks through them so he didn't have to say anything. When he released her, they were both blushing like teenagers and smiling.

It was with a light heart that Sage walked back to the manor, a bounce in her step despite the clunky shoes Fenris had scrounged up for her. Although Bodahn gave her odd choice of clothes a look once she arrived, it was an amused, friendly one, and she only grinned coyly back.

_end_

**AN: Is anyone still interested in DA2 since DA:I is coming out soon? I hope so, because Fenris is awesome. I'd like to thank ripleyem on deviantArt (MinionRipley here on FF) for changing my kind of depressing Fenris-hates-cuddles head-canon to more of their Fenris-loves-cuddles head-canon, because seeing their lovely picture by pure happenstance was what gave me the idea for this. Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the sap!**


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